


From the Ashes

by theangryuniverse



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nurse Katsuki Yuuri, Pining, Romance, Victor is in a coma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23576503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryuniverse/pseuds/theangryuniverse
Summary: The last thing that Victor remembers seeing is the reflection of the colourful lights on the ice.After that, there has only ever been darkness.The darkness is always there. It surrounds him, holds him close, cradles him like a mother holds her child. It does not want to let him go, and he has to admit that there is a certain appeal to remain in the darkness. The darkness is warm, familiar, and safe.Victor wants to wake up, but does not know how.Sometimes, he thinks, he sleeps.But there is an angel that comes to him, every single day. An angel, whose name is Yuuri, and Victor wants nothing more than to meet him.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 43
Kudos: 292





	From the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmHunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmHunter/gifts).



> This is a rather unusual work for me, but it was inspired by a tumblr post of a nurse that cared for a coma patient, who came to her after he woke up to thank her. I'm not working in the medical field, and I have no medical knowledge about coma patients whatsoever, so this fic does NOT claim to be accurate in any way. This is for your enjoyment only. 
> 
> The title of this fic is inpired by "From the Ashes" by the wonderful Amy Macdonald, to which you can listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ej3rNEyu7Tk) .

**From the Ashes**

* * *

The last thing that Victor remembers seeing is the reflection of the colourful lights on the ice.

After that, there has only ever been darkness.

The darkness is always there. It surrounds him, holds him close, cradles him like a mother holds her child. It does not want to let him go, and he has to admit that there is a certain appeal to remain in the darkness. The darkness is warm, familiar, and safe.

Were it not for the screams inside his head.

Besides the screams, he is comfortable, as comfortable as anyone in his situation could be. He lies on a soft mattress, his head on a pillow, and his arms rested at his sides. A duvet covers him from the chest down, keeping him warm. That is all they can do for him, and Victor cannot ask for more, simply because he is unable to.

Sometimes, they move him to avoid pressure marks and spare him the unnecessary pain that he does not feel anyway. The thought of him being in pain is their greatest concern, and has been cause for quite a few morphine-induced dreams. They mean well, of course. But after such dreams, his head had always felt rather funny, and he is glad that such treatment has stopped.

The doctors have assured Yakov, Yuri, and everyone else that at this stage, he is not in pain, and resting peacefully.

For now, all that they can do is to wait.

Victor wants to wake up, but does not know how.

Sometimes, he thinks, he sleeps.

He has lost all feeling for time, and how much time has passed since the darkness came he cannot tell.

Yakov comes to him almost every day. His arrival is always followed by a very specific sequence of sounds. First, Victor will hear a door open, a door that is slightly scratching the floor and must therefore be in need of a repairman. Next, he will hear the soft rustling of a coat being taken off and the sound of a chair being dragged over the floor, only to be put down beside his bed. Then, he will hear Yakov sit down with a sigh and a grumble about the “bloody traffic”.

And then, he will hear a surprisingly soft “Good evening, Vitya.”

Every time, it will break Victor’s heart.

There are other voices, too.

There is the grumpy, yet incredibly tender “Hey there, you Soviet relic” by Yuri whenever he comes to visit, or the gentle “Hey, Vitya,” followed by a kiss to his forehead that tells him that Mila is there. Georgi comes, too, always patting his arm. Or Lilia, whose footsteps he can hear before she even enters the room because she always wears heels. She will never speak much, but touch his hand in greeting.

But there is also the voice of an angel, a voice that lights up Victor’s darkness whenever he hears it.

The angel comes to him every single day, and always greets him with “Good morning, Mr. Nikiforov, how are we doing today?”

The angel’s words are always followed by the sound of curtains being pulled back. “Look at that weather, Mr. Nikiforov,” the angel will say before Victor can hear the footsteps coming closer, approaching his bed. A hand will touch his face, an incredibly gentle hand whose touch sends the most pleasant shivers down his spine.

“I think it’s time to shave, Mr. Nikiforov,” the angel will say with a chuckle. “Your friends are coming today, and you surely want to look proper, right?”

Victor is very much in love with the angel.

The rational side of his brain that is still active knows, of course, that the voice does not belong to an angel, but to a person. A person, whose name is Yuuri, and who comes every single day to take care of him. Victor knows his name because Yuuri sometimes does not come alone, but with someone else whose name is Phichit, and from what Victor can tell, Yuuri and Phichit are friends.

Best friends, even, judging by the way Phichit speaks to Yuuri.

Victor has never had a friend like that.

Friends, yes, but no one has ever been truly close to him.

Skating has always come first.

Skating has been what has come last, too. Before the darkness.

But Victor does not complain, at least not anymore. No matter how hard he screams, the screams will always remain inside his head. No one else hears them.

* * *

There are footsteps, followed by the doors opening and the familiar scratching of it on the linoleum floor. “Good morning, Mr. Nikiforov, how are we doing today?”

His angel Yuuri is here, and Victor is overjoyed.

He hears the footsteps approach the window and draw back the curtains.

Then, a sigh.

“God, what a weather…” Yuuri says, and Victor can practically hear him shake his head. “It’s still raining, Mr. Nikiforov. The roads are closed, even. Dr. Crispino even called to say that his car got stuck.” The footsteps come closer, and Victor feels a hand on his arm to check the tube that goes into his body there. “In such a weather one better stays at home and in bed. You are doing it just right.”

If Victor had been able to laugh, he would have. But he only chuckles inside his head, and allows himself to focus on Yuuri’s touch. It is always gentle, and perhaps Victor just imagines it, but Yuuri always touches him longer than necessary. Longer, and with more feeling, than the other nurses do.

Victor wants nothing more than to touch back.

The door opens again, a lot quicker and scratching harder this time, followed by a “Oh my God, Yuuri, oh my God!”

The voice belongs to the other nurse, Phichit, and judging by the way he speaks, he is incredibly excited.

But then again, the man is always excited.

“What is it?” Yuuri asks, and Victor feels the man’s gentle hands on his head, reaching down to adjust the pillow that supports his neck.

“I just checked Twitter! Christophe Giacometti won the Cup of China!”

“Really?” Both Yuuri and Victor ask, the latter only mentally, but his chest fills with pride at the news of his friend winning. Chris has always been one of the best, a close friend and a terrific skater, who finally got what he rightfully deserved. From now on, it would be only a short way to Worlds.

“He’ll soon be at Worlds, then,” Yuuri says, just as the heart monitor beeps. “Huh. Look at that.”

“What is it?”

“His heart rate went up a little just now.” Victor can hear the sound of fingertips tapping against a touch screen. “Now it’s normal again.”

Phichit chuckles. “What if he reacted to our talk about figure skating? Does he know you’re a fan?”

“What are you even talking about.”

“I mean, have you ever told him that you’re a fan?”

Yuuri sighs, and Victor can’t believe what he is hearing.

Yuuri, his angel, a fan of figure skating?

“It’s not important,” Yuuri says, and Victor wants to disagree because yes, it’s very important!

“You always say that they can hear us, Yuuri,” Phichit reminds him. “What if he heard us talking about figure skating? What if he heard that Chris Giacometti won? What if he knows now that you’re a fan?”

“Then I want him to know that I feel very sorry for what has happened to him and that I want nothing more than for him to wake up and go back to his beautiful skating again,” Yuuri says with annoyance in his voice, and it makes Victor shiver in a surprisingly good way. “Is that what you want to hear?”

For a long moment, there is only the sound of the machines that are connected to his body, the occasional beeps and the muffled noises coming from the hallway.

“I bet he’s very happy to hear that,” Phichit says softly, and indeed, Victor is. He is incredibly happy that his angel is a fan of figure skating, that they have something in common, and that he likes what Victor does. “I’ll check on Mr Stevenson now. You’re good?”

Apparently, Yuuri nods, for Victor can hear Phichit leave the room again, his steps always somewhat bouncy unlike Yuuri’s who almost floats. He must have a very gentle way of walking, almost like a woman.

Yuuri sighs, and Victor wants nothing more than to take his hand and tell him it’s okay.

“We’ll work with what we’ve got, won’t we, Victor?” Yuuri says softly, and it is the first time he calls Victor by his first name.

Victor is sure his heart is going to burst from the joy it gives him.

“I think it’s time for changing your underwear. Sorry about that.”

Victor certainly won’t complain.

* * *

There is a certain routine to his days, despite everything. Every two to three days, Yuuri will come and shave him, for example, so he looks “nice and proper” for his visitors, as Yuuri always says. Every three to four days, he will wash his hair, and Yuuri’s fingers are always so gentle on his scalp that Victor almost falls asleep to it. Every day, he gets new underwear and a fresh pyjama, too, and Victor has long stopped mentally complaining about being nude before Yuuri.

But his favourite part of their routine is when Yuuri reads to him from the newspaper, including his commentary on the state of things.

“Can you believe they re-elected this piece of corn,” Yuuri mutters after reading an article about current politics, and Victor wholeheartedly agrees.

“Let’s check the horoscope, shall we,” Yuuri hums and Victor can hear how he turns the pages. “Capricorn, right? Hmm… You will find a deep connection with someone. That doesn’t sound too bad. Let us check mine…”

Victor is dying to learn what Yuuri’s zodiac sign is, but he does not get an answer as Yuuri merely sighs and turns to the next page.

“Sports!” Yuuri announces. “That’s the right page for you. Let’s see… I mean, it’s not figure skating season but sometimes there is gossip… but not today, it seems.”

Usually, Victor is not interested in figure skating gossip – unlike most people in that scene – but today, he would have happily died just to hear Yuuri read the latest rumours out to him. Or read anything out to him, really.

There’s the sound of thin paper being folded, and he hears Yuuri rise. “You’re having visitors today, I think,” he says and checks Victor’s pillow once more. “Your parents are coming. Isn’t that nice?” He hears Yuuri sigh, and the scratching of objects on the bedside table. “I haven’t seen my parents in five years,” he murmurs.

Victor listens more attentively at that. How can it be that Yuuri has not seen his parents, who must be wonderful because they have made an angel, in five years? Where do they live? Where is Yuuri from, even? Victor tries to remember his last name.

The door scratches on the linoleum floor as it is opened.

“Oh, Mr Katsuki,” the voice of his mother says, and Victor rejoices.

Katsuki!

Yuuri Katsuki!

The most beautiful name for the most wonderful man in the world.

“Good afternoon,” Yuuri says softly, and Victor is sure that his parents appreciate Yuuri just as much as he does, and that they must be shaking hands by now. His parents have always been good judges of character, they simply _must_ see how lovely he is.

“What a lovely day it is,” his mother says, and Victor hears the heels of her shoes clicking on the floor as she comes to his bed and sits down. She takes his hand and brushes the hair out of his face, and kisses his forehead. “Hello, Vitya.”

“Indeed,” Yuuri says. “Victor and I were just reading the newspaper.”

“Unbelievable, right?” Victor’s father asks. “Vitya was never much of a newspaper person. But it is very nice of you that you are reading to him after your shift, although you don’t have to.”

That is new to Victor, and he is sure his heart skips a beat at that. Yuuri is not working when he is reading to him?

“It’s nothing, really,” Yuuri says, and oh, Victor is sure that there must be the most adorable blush on him.

“How has he been?” Victor hears his mother ask, and feels her fingertips on his cheek. Her question never really means that.

She wants to know if there’s a sign of consciousness on him.

“Content, Madam,” Yuuri says. “His vital signs are good.”

“That is good news,” his father says, although he, too, does not want to hear that. Victor knows that his parents come to him in the hope of better, much better news.

Every time, it breaks his heart anew.

He wants to wake up. He wants to sit up, and put his arms around his mother and father, and tell them how much he loves them, how grateful he is for everything. That he was never in pain, not then, not now, that he has merely been resting.

But his world remains dark, and his body motionless, and he can only call for them inside his head, in complete silence.

“Did you manage to speak to your boss already?” His mother asks. “About…” She does not say what, and Victor listens more attentively.

“I’ve tried,” Yuuri says softly. “But he’s… not a big fan of things like that, I’m afraid. But I’ll find a way. I’m entirely on your side there.”

“Good, good,” his mother says, and Victor feels her hand on his stomach, caressing it just the way she has always done with when he had been little and lying in bed with a tummy ache. It is an incredibly sweet gesture, one only ever shared between him and his mother, and each time she does it, Victor feels like a little boy again. He is sure that she thinks back to those times, too, when they had been together and happy, not separated by his darkness.

There’s the rustling of a coat being picket up, and footsteps on the floor. “I’ll leave you now. Just press the button if you need anything,” Yuuri says, and Victor’s heart sinks. As happy as he is about his parents’ visit, he does not want Yuuri to leave.

“Thank you, Mr Katsuki,” his father says, and Victor is sure he can hear a soft “See you tomorrow, Victor,” before his angel leaves, and the door falls shut.

His mother sighs deeply, her hand once more reaching for his. “Evgenia Ivanova asked about you the other day, love,” she says. “She came to the ballet studio… she asked me to tell you that she hopes you’ll feel better soon. She’s a mother now, did you know that? The most adorable little boy she had with her…”

It happens often that people ask his parents about him, and ask them to deliver their wishes. Whilst it feels nice to be remembered, it feels strange, at the same time, because all those people that ask about him now never seemed to care much about him when he was still skating. Still out there. Still in the light.

Evgenia used to be his girlfriend.

The one he had until he realised that he was so very, very gay.

She had never really forgiven him for that.

His parents stay with him for the rest of the afternoon, talking to him about this and that. His father gives him the latest news about the family business, and what his cousins who work with him are up to. There are news about his mother’s ballet studio, about the people she’s met. Not once does his mother’s hand leave him, always touching him somewhere, and she will kiss him so very often. On his forehead, on his cheeks, on his eyelids.

Victor wants nothing more than to wake up.

It is the only wish he has.

* * *

Fortunately, Yuuri is back the next day, and he’s in a sour mood.

“Fuck Phichit, honestly,” he hears Yuuri mutter the moment the angel steps into his room, and Victor’s heart soars at the sound of his voice. At the same time, he is worried, for he knows that Yuuri and Phichit are best friends, and he has no idea what the other man – a Thai, apparently – has done to make Yuuri angry.

Yuuri puts on his gloves, as Victor knows after hearing the obscene sound they make, and that means it’s time to change the needles.

Victor _hates_ needles.

“Thinks I can’t do this on my own,” Yuuri mutters as he gets to work on Victor’s arm with his usual gentleness. His fingers dance over Victor’s skin, and Victor is sure this must be what Heaven’s touch feels like. God, this is better than sex.

“This is, like, the only free night I’ve got in weeks and Phichit has nothing better to do than getting me a fucking blind date with a guy he knows from the gym…”

A cold shiver runs down Victor’s spine at those words.

For one, because Yuuri is having a date, and he hates it.

And because he now knows that Yuuri is gay, or at least bi, and that alone makes Victor giddy and incredibly jealous at the same time.

No one, especially not one of those idiots you can find at a gym – and Victor knows that from personal experience, he has dated several fitness models – could ever deserve the actual angel that is Yuuri Katsuki.

Victor is so upset that he does not even feel the needles change, and only as he hears Yuuri toss the gloves into the bin he realises the dreaded procedure is already over.

“I fucking hate dating,” Yuuri murmurs, more to himself than to anyone else, but Victor wants to scream that he hears him, that yes, dating sucks, and that he should never feel obliged to do something like that just because Phichit, that bloody enabler, has arranged it for him.

Yuuri sighs, and Victor hears the scratching of a chair being pulled across the floor, and put down right next to his bed.

And then, there is Yuuri’s hand, taking his own, keeping it safe and warm.

Yuuri’s touch is always gentle, his hands bringing love to everything they touch. Love, reassurance, comfort. They are soft as they cup Victor’s hand and caress his palm, running along his fingers, as if taking secret measurements for something only Yuuri knows.

Victor wants to lace their fingers together, hold on to Yuuri for eternity.

“I wish I could go out with you,” Yuuri murmurs. “We’d be good together.”

Victor smiles, only for himself, for no one else to see.

Indeed.

They would be good together.

* * *

It is Phichit who comes to him the following morning, and Victor wishes he could glare at the man. After all, Phichit is the reason Yuuri was in a horrible mood yesterday.

“Morning, Mr Nikiforov,” Phichit chirps as he pulls the curtains back. “God, that weather matches Yuuri’s mood…” 

Now that could mean many things. Is the weather sunny, cheerful? Is Yuuri happy? Did his date go well? Or is it rainy and cloudy, the sort of weather that makes one want to stay at home, and in bed? What if Yuuri is sad? What if someone broke his heart?

His questions are answered as the door opens again and Phichit goes: “There you are. Now what’s that face?”

Yuuri huffs. “You know exactly what.”

“Come on, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad with—”

“Phichit, he took me to a Japanese restaurant because he thought that was the only food I could have.”

“That’s—”

“He stabbed the gyouza with the chopsticks and all he talked about was his energy drink idea.”

“Well, he’s—”

“And when he tried to kiss me he sneezed right into my face!”

“… that’s unfortunate,” Phichit admits, and that is the understatement of the year for Victor.

“And most importantly, he shoved Vicchan out of the way with his foot and against the wall. Who the fuck does that to a small dog?!”

If Victor could have done so, he would have held his breath.

Yuuri is a dog person.

Phichit sighs. “I’m really sorry, Yuuri,” he says, and he truly sounds like he is. “I thought he was nice.”

Yuuri says nothing, and instead approaches Victor’s bed and pushes hair out of his face with outmost gentleness.

“I know,” he murmurs, and Victor’s heart breaks at the resignation in his voice.

Phichit’s footsteps come closer, until he stands right beside Victor’s bed.

“You’ll find someone,” he says. “There’s someone for you, Yuuri. I know it.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Yuuri says with surprising firmness. “I’m just tired of this… endless string of disappointments.”

Never has Victor understood Yuuri more than he does now. He cannot help but think back to his own partners in the past, and how disappointing every single relationship has been. But Victor is sure that neither he nor Yuuri are actually asking for too much.

Or is it too much to long for someone who likes you so much that they want to hold and kiss you all the time, and accept you the way you are?

Victor thinks back to what Yuuri has said the night before, and once more, he wholeheartedly agrees.

Indeed.

They would be good together.

“I should focus on my work,” Yuuri says eventually, and Victor feels him adjust his pillow, making sure it supports his neck properly. “The patients need me. You need me.”

“But don’t forget yourself over it,” Phichit reminds him softly. “And don’t forget your family. It’s been five years since you last saw them. Are you sure you can’t take a few days off to visit them over your birthday weekend next month?”

“Taking days off is not the problem,” Yuuri says. “I can’t afford it.”

Victor curses the millions that sit in his bank account, doing nothing.

“You know you can always ask me,” Phichit says. “I can help you out with that.”

“You have the same money problems, Phichit,” Yuuri sighs. “I couldn’t accept that.”

“Okay. But the offer stands.”

“I know, Phichit. Thank you. Really.”

For a while, they don’t say a thing as they work, checking the tubes and getting him ready for the day. It’s what Yuuri has started to call ‘Spa Day’, meaning that they’ll wash him from head to toe and shave him. It’s one thing to be naked before a partner, but something entirely different in front of people that are there to help you, because you cannot do it yourself. Not that he’s ever been ashamed of his body – but even a figure skater can have body issues.

Victor does not even want to imagine what he looks like now, with his muscles reduced to the bare minimum. Of course, they do exercises with him, moving his arms and legs for him. And oh, it feels good, incredibly good to move, even if Victor cannot do it on his own.

His body used to be capable of so much.

Now he cannot even open his eyes.

“I heard your friends are coming today,” Yuuri says to him. “The whole bunch.”

“The whole bunch, really?” Phichit asks. “Like, the whole rink?”

“That’s what his coach said on the phone,” Yuuri says. “He always calls before they all come, I don’t know why.”

Victor knows why.

Yakov has never been that kind of person that likes to intrude, especially not with his students. And whilst Yakov visits him almost every day, the rest of the rink cannot do that. But at least once a month, it seems, he brings them all along. Yuri, Georgi, Mila. The latter always kissing him.

Sometimes, Lilia comes, too.

But she cannot bear seeing him like this, and does not come too often. But Yakov always brings him her regards.

“Time to make you look all nice and proper, hm?” Yuuri says softly and begins to shave Victor’s face.

Victor holds still, because truly, this is the only thing he has no problem with doing for Yuuri.

When he is done, Yuuri gently wipes his face with a wet cloth, making sure he has not missed a single spot.

“Ready for the day, Victor,” he says softly, only for him to hear.

Yakov and the others come about an hour later, and Victor can hear young Yuri Plisetsky yell angrily the moment they step out of the elevator.

Puberty has truly hit him hard, Victor thinks as his second family comes in, as he feels Mila’s kiss on his forehead, Georgi’s pat on his arm, and hears Yuri’s “Hey there, you Soviet relic.” Finally, there is Yakov, greeting him with “Hello, Vitya.”

And then, they just talk, as if he were truly with them.

* * *

“Okay, she has to be absolutely quiet or I’ll be in massive trouble, Sir.”

“We won’t let anything happen to you, Mr Katsuki, not after what you have done for our son. No one will fire you.”

“Sir—”

“But yes, she will be quiet.”

Victor does not even know what the voices that belong to Yuuri and his father are talking about, until he hears the door open, and the sound of nails clicking on the linoleum floor.

Oh.

A second later, something very large, very warm, and very fluffy lands on top of him, and something wet runs across his entire face.

“Makka, no!” His father hisses in a whisper, but Makkachin does not care, and neither does Victor. He cries silent tears of joy, calls out to his best friend in his mind as she licks all over his face and moves on top of him out of sheer excitement. And then, she whines, knowing she has to be a good girl and not bark because that would get them in trouble. She has always been a good girl. No, the best, the bestest of girls.

Makkachin is here, and Victor realises it was all Yuuri’s doing.

“His heart rate is going up!” Victor hears his mother gasp, and he wants to laugh out loud. Of course it is going up!

“He is reacting to his surroundings, Madam,” Yuuri says softly. “That is a good sign.”

His mother starts crying, and Victor cries all by himself, too.

Makkachin is here, and Yuuri made all of this happen.

Yuuri is truly an angel.

* * *

Victor learns that Yuuri’s birthday has come by the loud “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEST FRIEND!” that Phichit yells the moment he bursts into the room.

“For God’s sake, Phichit!” Yuuri groans after almost falling from the chair he’s sitting on. “I’m putting needles into him here!”

“What could have happened, except for him to wake up?” Phichit laughs, and god, Victor wishes it were true. “Happy birthday, Yuuri! Now you’re twenty-four! What does it feel like to be an old man, eh?”

“Phichit…” Yuuri sighs, and Victor has never heard something more adorable. But no, twenty-four is anything but old. Twenty-eight, however, yes – very much so. The number that awaits Victor in December.

“You should celebrate! Let’s go out tonight! We should have dinner and then drinks and go clubbing! You know, to that one place where you got wasted and danced almost naked with—”

“No, God, no,” Yuuri exclaims with horror, and Victor laughs out loud in his mind. He has had no idea that Yuuri was such a party animal. “I’ve got the evening shift.”

“You’re working two shifts on your birthday?!” Phichit is appalled, just like Victor. “Are you crazy?”

“Mel’s daughter is having a ballet performance. She had to miss the other three.”

Phichit sighs whilst Victor’s heart swells because once more, he has proof that his angel is the kindest person in the world.

“Okay, fair enough,” Phichit says. “But we’ll go out for lunch between your shifts, is that understood, mister?”

“Understood.”

“I bet Victor here would tell you to go clubbing, too,” Phichit says. “To enjoy yourself. Don’t just spend all your time here. Go out, have fun. You’re not forever twenty-four, Yuuri.”

Well.

Maybe Victor would not tell Yuuri to go clubbing. No, he would ask him out on a date. A candle light dinner at the best restaurant in town, followed by dancing and a walk through the park, under the stars. Yes. It would be the best night of Yuuri’s life.

“Victor would not tell me anything, because he does not know me,” Yuuri says, and Victor is sure he can hear sadness in his angel’s voice.

 _But Yuuri_ , he thinks, sadness sinking into him, too. _I do know you. And I like you so._

* * *

His mother and father visit him a few days later, on Sunday afternoon, on December the 3rd.

But this time, they are not left alone for long. After a while, someone else enters the room, and Victor recognises the voice of the doctor that regularly checks on him.

Victor never bothered to remember his name.

“I’m glad to see you again,” he says and probably shakes his parents’ hands, for his mother’s hand leaves his own for a moment. It returns, and she laces their fingers together, a bond between mother and son. “I see that your son has been taken good care of by our nurses. I hope you are satisfied.”

“Very much so,” his mother says. “Mr Katsuki and Mr Chulanont are doing a wonderful job.”

More than that, Victor thinks to himself.

“I’m glad to hear that,” the doctor says and Victor can hear him take a seat. “I wanted to speak to you because it has been almost a year since your son’s accident on the ice. It is a miracle that he has survived in this state for so long, and so well.”

“Our son is strong,” Victor’s father says calmly, but Victor hears the strain in it.

His father is nervous.

“I will be honest with you,” the doctor says, and Victor feels his mother’s hand grasp his own tighter. “Whilst his vitals are steady, it is very unlikely that he will ever wake up again. The chances are slim to none.”

“But there’s always hope!” His mother breathes, and her grip almost crushes Victor’s hand. “He can wake up anytime nonetheless! Isn’t that so?!”

“Technically, yes,” the doctor says carefully. “Miracles happen. We do not know why, or how, but there have been patients that have woken from worse states. But it does not happen often, Madam. And even if your son wakes up again, it is very likely that he will be suffering from massive brain damage. We are not talking about missing memories here, but about difficulties with speech, overall movement… He might be bound to a bed for the rest of his life after waking up. He might not be able to recognise you. If he wakes up, that is.”

The sobs of his mother break Victor’s heart.

For a while, there is just that, the sobs of his mother, and the reassuring words of his father whose weight he now feels on the mattress, too, undoubtedly sitting beside his mother, holding and comforting her.

If there is an ideal time to wake up and rise from the dead, then it is this one. Victor knows it, his parents know it, but the Lord above does not play along. No matter how hard Victor tries, no matter how much he begs, his world stays dark, his hands remain still, and the tears he weeps go unnoticed, just like his cries that remain silent and only for him to hear.

“I cannot let my son die,” his mother whispers. “I can’t let my Vitya die.”

“We will not let him die, darling,” his father replies calmly. “We have waited one year, and we will wait longer. We will wait until our boy wakes up. No matter the time or cost. Because that is what this is about, is it not?”

Victor knows his father as a quiet, taciturn man that prefers to think about things instead of talking about them before he has made up his mind. But he also knows that his father is headstrong when he has to be, and that he takes the lead if necessary.

That, and that his father can see right through others and see their true intentions.

“We have done everything we can for your son, Mr Nikiforov,” the doctor says calmly. “A hospital like ours is no longer the right place for him. A nursing home, perhaps, or—”

“We will care for our son in our own home,” his father interrupts the doctor. “We are rich enough. He should be in an environment that he is used to. Surrounded by his loved ones.”

Victor hears his mother’s gentle sobs, and feels her hand squeeze his own, over and over again, their promise that they will not simply let him die. That no machine will be turned off.

That they will take him home.

Away from the angel.

The realisation comes over Victor all of a sudden, and he wants to sit up in bed and call Yuuri’s name, call his name out into the night and run away to find him. He cannot leave without him. He cannot part from the angel.

Not now.

Not ever.

“That is an excellent idea,” the doctor says and sounds incredibly relieved. “The hospital will happily assist you with the arrangements.”

“Good.” His mother takes a deep breath. “Let us take our boy home in time for his birthday.”

Victor wants to scream no.

He does not want to leave, he does not want to be taken away from the angel, from Yuuri, the only person he could rely on, truly, in the midst of his darkness.

But his screams remain silent.

* * *

Yuuri comes to him in what must be the middle of the night.

Victor knows it is him because no one but Yuuri touches his hand with such care, brushes his hair out of his face with such tenderness. It is Yuuri, Victor knows that before Yuuri even starts speaking. But when he does, he realises that Yuuri is sad.

“They’re taking you home tomorrow,” he whispers. “I’m… I’m supposed to be happy for you but I’m not. Does that… does that make me a bad person, Victor?”

Victor wants to pull his angel into his arms, and tell him that no, he could never be a bad person, that he does not want to be away from him, either. Because that is what this is about, is it not?

Oh, Victor hopes so.

“I wish I could keep looking after you,” Yuuri says quietly, and his hand caresses Victor’s face. “But they’re taking you home, which is good, but…” He does not finish the sentence, and he does not have to.

Instead, Victor feels a kiss on his cheek, a tender, loving kiss.

“I’ll pray for you, Victor,” Yuuri whispers, and Victor feels the wetness of tears on his skin. “So you will be able to skate again.”

And then, the lips and the hand of the angel leave him, and Victor only hears a whispered “Goodbye, Victor”, before the door falls shut.

Victor’s heart shatters into a thousand pieces.

* * *

They take him home shortly before his birthday.

Victor does not remember the ride to his parents’ house, to the place where he has grown up. He just knows that at some point, he is in a different room, in a different bed, with a different pillow under his head. There is a different blanket keeping him warm, a different hand caressing his in the mornings and at night, and different voices surrounding him, talking to him.

There is no angel around, and that alone makes Victor incredibly sad.

His family’s home is not near the city where the hospital is, and he cannot expect Yuuri to come and visit him. No, that would not be proper. And from what Victor knows about Yuuri, he is sure that Yuuri would never want to impose. That is why he is not coming.

It would not be proper.

After all, they have, to the world, no actual relationship.

Victor knows that this is not true, and he is sure that Yuuri knows, too.

Whatever their connection is, it is real, it is there, and it will never fade.

In his dreams, Victor reaches out for him.

He repeats his name, over and over again, until it is so deeply ingrained in his mind that he will never forget it again. Yuuri Katsuki. Yuuri Katsuki. Angel. Yuuri the angel. His Yuuri, his angel.

Yuuri.

Victor sleeps in the darkness, sometimes, but he is not always able to tell the difference. Sometimes, the dreams feel real, and they stay with him long into the actual darkness. His favourite dreams are the ones with Yuuri in them, when Yuuri laughs, or when he whispers. Their hands will touch, and their fingers intertwine, just for one forbidden moment, but it is enough. They are bound together, even if they are not touching, and Yuuri’s light reaches into Victor’s darkness.

But the dreams pass, and Victor finds himself alone again.

A soft, warm body will curl up against his own.

And whilst Makkachin cannot reach into his darkness, Victor loves her, just for being there.

On his birthday, they sing, and there is cake, he is told, cake served to the people that have come to see him. Makkachin whines, because she wants cake, too, but people tell her no, except for young Yuri, who has always had a soft spot for animals, and Victor is sure he feeds her a piece because he can’t do it himself. There are more songs, and talks of this and that, and even Chris is there, whispering into his ear in a quieter moment about his latest victories in the field of romance. Masumi is his name, Japanese, just like Yuuri. Chris is smitten with him, and Victor is happy for him, and Chris promises to bring him along next time.

“Next time,” Chris says before he parts from him, “you will shake his hand. And you will hug me back, and we’ll throw sticks for Makkachin. Promise me that, hm?”

Victor wants nothing more than that.

But what good is wanting, Victor wonders, if one cannot strive for getting what one wants?

On Valentine’s Day, his mother tells him she has brought him roses, fresh from the gardener’s and the most beautiful of them all. She has put them in that vase he made for her when he was but a boy, she says and laughs at that. Victor remembers the vase and oh, it is an ugly one, but his mother has always loved it, reserved it at all times for the best of flowers. Usually, he would have sent her flowers for Valentine’s Day, too.

“But this year,” his mother says softly as she runs her fingers through his hair, “you are here with me. That is the best Valentine’s Day gift I could possibly get. My Vitya.”

She takes his hand, intertwines their fingers, and Victor feels her squeeze.

He cannot squeeze back, but pours his love out to her, through his fingertips.

After she has left, he sleeps.

* * *

Victor wakes up on a Sunday morning, as if waking from a long, deep sleep.

At first, he does not even realise that something has changed. He opens his eyes, slowly blinks them open, just like anyone would after a long rest. His sight is blurry, heavy with sleep and he cannot focus. First, he sees the light, streaming into the room through the window beside his bed. The sunlight warms the hand that rests on top of the duvet, and Victor smiles. The muscles in his face burn as he does so, and he hisses, and Makkachin raises her head.

And then she barks, and hell breaks loose.

It is only then that Victor realises in shock that he is awake, and the darkness is no more.

There are voices around him, the cries of his mother and father, hands on his body, his face. There are eyes, blue eyes in a pretty face, framed with silver hair that tickles his skin as his mother looks down at him, crying. His father’s voice, talking on the phone, talking to quickly he almost forgets how to speak. Makkachin barks, and she whines, and she licks his face.

Victor falls asleep again, soon after someone else arrives, but he wakes again with the setting sun to the caresses of his mother’s fingers on his cheek.

He looks at her, seeing her clearly for the first time in more than a year, and whispers a barely audible, tender hello.

Things go slowly after that.

His throat is dry, his voice gone, but so is the darkness. Victor can see the world, sees his mother and his father, sees Makkachin, and the flowers they put on his bedside table. He sees the sun and no longer only feels it when it warms his hand on the duvet. He can raise his hand, and touch back, and kiss back, and hold his parents just as they hold him.

He tells Makkachin that she is a good girl, and she wags her tail and attacks him with wet kisses.

It is a miracle, the doctor says after having a long, good look at him, that he is still himself. And indeed, it is a miracle that he is still feeling very much like himself not just physically but also mentally. He remembers the things he has had in his mind in the darkness, his wishes, his fears, and his desires.

He remembers Yuuri.

“Mama,” he asks, his voice hoarse and terrible as he speaks to her as she shows him anew how to hold a spoon, as if he were a baby again. “Can I see Yuuri Katsuki?”

His mother pauses, looking at him in utter confusion.

She lowers the spoon she has tried to press into his hand, and folds her hands on her lap.

“He was always convinced that you could hear the world around you,” she says. “Did you?”

Victor nods. “Can you invite him?”

His mother looks at him for a long moment. “I’ll ask your father to call him,” she says before she rises.

* * *

In the evening, his father informs Victor that Yuuri Katsuki is currently not in the country but on a longer holiday, together with the other nurse whose name Victor has forgotten.

Phichit, his father tells him.

For how long they will be gone, no one can tell.

Apparently, there has been an emergency in the family, the doctor that has treated Victor tells him when he comes to visit to see the miracle for himself.

Victor needs to be a little more patient.

At least now, he thinks as he takes the first steps as a newborn man, he can see the light.

* * *

Mila cries, and Georgi sobs, and Yuri Plisetsky barks at him: “Took you long enough, you relic!” But then, Yuri embraces him, even harder than the others do, and even Yakov sheds a tear.

* * *

Chris brings Masumi along, and he is just as lovely as Victor would have thought, and Makkachin gets to catch her stick.

* * *

For twenty-eight years, this life has been all he has ever known.

But now that Victor sits on the sofa in his living room, looking at the pictures on the wall of the place that he calls home, he realises how far behind him his old life lies. As if he had blown it up, as if his old life had burnt down, leaving him all on his own, the flames eating away all that he has once held most dear.

His eyes wander to the medals on the wall, right where his mother had suggested he should put them, for every guest to see. In all the years he has lived in this apartment, however, he has rarely ever had guests. And those that had come to see him – Yakov, Yuri, Georgi, Mila, Chris, besides his parents – did not care about the medals. In the last few months of his career, before the darkness, he has had less and less time for them. For other people, that is.

And he has spent less and less time in his apartment, less time with Makkachin.

She sits beside him now, her head resting on his thigh, looking up at him with the loyal eyes that only dogs have for their owners. She seems to have forgotten the months she has had to spend without him, with other people taking care of her, because he could not be there. She does not care anymore. Makkachin, Victor thinks as he scratches her behind the ear, lives in the present.

She does not look back.

It is okay to start again, Victor realises as he rises and approaches the wall with the medals. He is not who he used to be anymore. Not as young, not as strong.

Not as sad.

Yes, why not blow up this place, burn it down, until his past is nothing but a distant memory. Oh, he would be so fearless.

And his life – his life would be so much simpler again. With the focus on the simple things, the free things in life. Himself, Makkachin, his mother, his father. His friends, his loved ones.

Yuuri.

He has to find Yuuri.

And so, Victor takes the medals off the wall, and ends his career.

* * *

It does shake the figure skating world, of course, but Victor could not have cared less. He does not even bother with the press, leaving it all to Yakov, who has surprisingly been supportive of Victor’s life choices. No one seriously expected him to come back after such a life-turning event, but to have him say it out loud, declare it to the world, is something entirely different. His social media, which he has not touched for obvious reasons in over a year, blows up the moment he posts it, and then, Victor deletes the apps, except for Instagram, where he keeps a private account. Only a handful of people know of it and follow it, among them only his closest friends. Less than ten people.

Victor wants to add one more.

He takes the train into the city, not trusting himself with driving a car just yet. The sunglasses hide his eyes, but he does not bother hiding his hair. If someone recognises him, then so be it. However, no one bothers him on the ride, and Victor can go through his memories in peace and quiet, collecting all the information he can remember about Yuuri. It feels as if he knows so much about him already, except for what he looks like. He is looking for an Asian man, yes. But there are many Asian men in this country. Many Asian men in that hospital, too. Victor will have to ask around.

Being back in this city feels strange, and Victor realises he hates the crowds. And so, he takes a taxi to the hospital, escaping the crowds that are heading to the underground or to the buses, although its expensive and he’ll be stuck in traffic, but at least he is alone. The driver glances at him every now and then through the back mirror but keeps his mouth shut, for which Victor is incredibly grateful for. Victor pays by card before he gets out of the taxi and finds himself standing before the very hospital where he has spent a year in the darkness.

All of a sudden, Victor feels incredible insecure of himself.

He checks his reflection in the glass doors. He does not look too bad for a man that was on the very brink of death just months ago, he has to admit that. Of course, he has lost weight and muscles, and his clothes don’t fit the same way, but he looks good, still. Even his hair has gotten back its shine, but the man he sees now has nothing in common with the man they photographed for magazines and websites. It may be the same shell, but it has been inhabited by two different people.

It is difficult to live as a person you don’t even know yet, Victor has realised that some time ago. Who is he now, if not _the_ Victor Nikiforov anymore?

Who is he, when he is _just Victor_?

He takes a deep breath and enters the building.

There is a reason why Victor has never liked hospitals, simply because of the atmosphere. You are either coming because you are suffering, or someone you know is suffering. But this time, he is here to find someone, and so, it does not feel as bad as he thought to be here. The receptionist smiles at him as he approaches the desk.

“I’m looking for someone who works here,” Victor says. “His name is Yuuri Katsuki, and he’s a nurse.”

“I’m terribly sorry, but I cannot give out information about employees,” the receptionist replies.

Victor takes a deep breath. “I… I was his patient, and I want to thank him. I used to be in—”

“I know who you are, Sir,” the receptionist says softly. “And as much as I wish I could help you, I must not give out any information. I’m sorry.”

Victor sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He should have expected something like that.

“But,” the receptionist says quietly, and leans forward. “I might have seen him leave for his lunch break about ten minutes ago.”

Victor raises his head.

The receptionist smiles at him knowingly. “Black hair, glasses, adorable face. He went through that door ten minutes ago. He should be back soon. Why don’t you wait for him outside?”

Victor could kiss the woman.

“Thank you!” He mouths and the woman giggles as he rushes back outside and drops down on a bench, realising how exhausted he already is.

It’s an effect of being in a coma for so long, being easily exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that not even a cup of freshly brewed coffee can resolve.

Victor closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, inhaling the fresh Summer air. To do something so simple as taking a breath, to feel the air flow through his lungs, bringing life and energy to him. For over a year, he has been robbed of such a simple experience. The more liberating it feels now, and the more peace it brings to him.

The sun caresses his face, and Victor is sure he could fall asleep just like that, on this bench, and he wouldn’t care about any other thing in the world.

There is a hand touching his own, a hand whose touch he knows, and Victor opens his eyes.

Before him stands an angel, there is no doubt to that. Black hair, combed back to reveal beautiful, brown eyes behind glasses that look down at him in pure awe and adoration. Yuuri is gorgeous, despite the fact he looks tired, and worn-out, and his hospital clothes don’t fit him the way they should.

But to Victor, he is perfect, and he finds himself at a loss for words.

Thankfully, Yuuri speaks first, and to hear the angel’s voice again is everything that Victor could have possibly needed.

“Hello, Victor,” he says with a smile on his lips, gentle and hesitant, as if he did not dare to believe his eyes either.

Victor swallows thickly. “Yuuri?”

Yuuri nods. “That’s me.”

God, he is gorgeous.

“I heard you,” Victor blurts out before he can stop himself. “When you talked to me. I heard you. I heard all of it. You… you always cheered me up and…” He holds his breath for a moment. “I don’t know what to say. Now that I finally see you, I don’t know what to say.”

The angel turned actual person sits down beside him, never letting go of his hand, and Victor looks at him like a man lost in a desert looking for salvation.

“I wanted to visit you,” Yuuri says softly. “I really wanted to. But I thought it would not be… proper.”

“I know,” Victor says, and Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “I mean… I could… imagine that you would think that. I don’t mind.”

Yuuri says nothing at first, which gives Victor the opportunity to look at him more closely. He truly is a gorgeous sight, with eyes to die for, and beautiful, plush lips that Victor wants to kiss so badly, lips that have touched his skin before and have left a mark on him ever since.

“I heard all the things you said to me, Yuuri,” Victor says softly, and by God, he is grateful that his voice does not leave him in this moment. “You were always there to cheer me up. You made it possible that Makkachin could visit me. And you… you trusted me with your thoughts, all while you knew that I could probably hear you.” Victor swallows, and Yuuri just looks at him, waiting. “I wanted to thank you, Yuuri. For everything you have done for me. I would not be here… I would not want to be here, if it were not for you.”

The words are out, and Victor feels a thousand pounds lighter.

“When I heard that you had woken up,” Yuuri begins softly, and his hands slips further into Victors, “I could not sleep the entire night. I was so… so nervous, and I did not know why. I wanted to call you but I didn’t think it would be okay, I thought it would… God…” Yuuri sighs in resignation.

Victor knows exactly what his angel is thinking, what he is going through. He has felt it all, too, knows the anxiety that comes with their peculiar situation, neither of them knowing who they are to each other now. It is not exactly an everyday situation, after all.

“Oh my God, is that Victor?!”

Both of them look up to see a young Thai standing before them, dropping his coffee cup and screaming in excitement, so loud that Victor almost goes deaf, before he finds himself in a hug.

“Now you have to go out with him!” The man Victor realises is the infamous Phichit squeals and pulls back just enough to look at them, his eyes sparkling with glee. “Yuuri! Listen to me! You have to go out with him!”

“Phichit—”

“Will you go out with me?” Victor asks, and holds his breath, just like Yuuri.

Yuuri looks at him, and his eyes water, and oh God, Victor has never known how to deal with crying people, what if he—

“Yes.”

* * *

Victor takes Yuuri to a small, Italian restaurant by the park.

He remembers all the things Yuuri has said about the horrible date he has had with Phichit’s gym guy, and he is determined to be a thousand times better than him. No Japanese restaurants, no disrespecting of Yuuri’s culture, and not just talking about himself. No, Victor wants to know everything about Yuuri, absolutely everything that there is to know about this angel turned human.

Yuuri, he learns, has been away for a while to help out in his family’s onsen. “That’s a hot spring,” he explains over delicious pasta. “My mother slipped in the onsen while cleaning and broke her hip, so my father and sister needed someone to help out. I had some sick days left so I took those and flew to Japan.”

“You had not seen them in five years, right?” Victor asks.

Yuuri nods ruefully. “I felt horrible. But my family didn’t care. They were just glad to have me back. Of course they noticed that… that I was lost in my thoughts all the time. I think my mother had the most suspicions because she made me katsudon, all while sitting in the wheelchair. And then she put it before me and said it’s the best food for heartbreak.” Yuuri smiles weakly at that, and Victor is so lost.

There is no smile that is more gorgeous than Yuuri’s.

“What is katsudon?” Victor asks. “I don’t know what it is, but if it cures heartbreak it must be delicious.”

Yuuri laughs, and it is the sound of the angels.

“It is,” he says, and smiles at Victor in a way that melts his heart.

After dinner, they go for a walk in the park, under the paper lanterns the city has put up for the summer picnics. They walk hand in hand, as if it had always been like this, never letting go of the other. At some point, a little dog runs towards them and they both immediately go down to their knees to pet it, never letting go of the other man’s hand. They laugh as they realise that, and shower the little friend with pets and kisses until the owner comes to get their dog back.

Victor is exhausted soon afterwards, his strength no longer what it used to be, but Yuuri understands.

“I live nearby,” Yuuri says softly, and looks up at Victor through his lashes. “Would you like to come up for coffee?”

Never has Victor said yes so fast.

* * *

Yuuri’s apartment is small, but every corner of it is just perfect.

And so is the little ball of fur that runs towards them the moment they enter the apartment, barking happily and wagging his little tail.

“Vicchan, no!” Yuuri laughs as his miniature poodle jumps into Victor’s arms, who has promptly knelt down to embrace him.

“Hello, you!” Victor coos and kisses the little poodle all over. “You must be the best boy ever! Yes, of course you are!”

Vicchan, of course, agrees, and licks all over Victor’s face.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Yuuri chuckles and pulls his dog away. “Go to your basket, Vicchan.”

Much to Victor’s surprise, the dog obeys and runs off to sit in a round, blue basket, watching them attentively.

“He has a nice name,” Victor says as he stands again. “Does that stand for something?”

Yuuri blushes deeply. “Well, I… sort of… named him after you.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve always liked your skating and… well… Vicchan is some sort of… cute form of your name in Japanese.” Yuuri looks embarrassed, which Victor finds absolutely adorable.

“I feel honoured,” Victor says. “It’s lovely. Just… like you. And I like you.”

Yuuri blushes even more, if that is even possible.

Victor takes a deep breath. “I like you, Yuuri. More than that. I know it’s probably stupid to say something like that when we haven’t even properly—”

“I like you, too, Victor,” Yuuri interrupts him softly, and steps closer to take Victor’s hands again. “I don’t hold hands all evening with just anyone. Believe me.”

Victor holds his breath as Yuuri comes even closer, until there is almost no more distance between them, and their noses touch.

“I like you so much, Victor, that I want to kiss you,” Yuuri whispers.

“Then do,” Victor breathes, and Yuuri presses their lips together.

It is a slow, hesitant dance between them, their fingers intertwined as they kiss for the very first time. Victor has never even dared to imagine what it would be like to feel Yuuri’s lips against his own, to touch him, to feel him the way he does now. But with every second that passes, Victor knows that Yuuri is perfect, and that waiting for his touch has been worth it. Yuuri is gentle, he is thoughtful, and he treats Victor with care even now, in this moment of vulnerability.

Yuuri pulls back after a while, looking up at Victor with a shy smile on his beautiful face that Victor longs to kiss again, and again, and again.

“I don’t know if it is too much to ask,” he whispers. “But would you like to come to bed with me?”

“Yes,” Victor breathes, and Yuuri takes him by the hand.

Yuuri’s bedroom is small, a place of refuge, that Victor knows the moment he sees it. But he has little patience for taking in his surroundings, for Yuuri is with him, in his arms, and kissing him with such gentleness that makes Victor’s heart almost burst with joy. Their clothing ends up forgotten on the floor, and Victor realises that Yuuri is probably the person he is most comfortable with seeing his body. Yuuri knows all of him already. Yuuri knows what a toll the past has taken on him.

“You are beautiful, Victor,” Yuuri whispers against his lips as they move together, skin against skin, and Victor loses himself in Yuuri’s embrace, trying to touch every inch of his body, just to make sure Yuuri knows how much he likes him, that he likes him so much that it hurts, that he never wants this to end.

This is all he needs, he thinks as Yuuri cries out above him. Yuuri, the sky above them, the earth below, and a fire within them.

When Yuuri rests in his arms a while later, he still cannot quite believe that the darkness that has been his life for so long is no more, and that the light is right there, in the shape of Yuuri.

“I am dreaming,” Victor whispers. “Am I not?”

Yuuri moves closer to him, his head resting on Victor’s chest as he wraps himself around him and holds him close, as if they had always been attached to each other like this. As if this was their natural state. Always together. Never apart.

He hears Yuuri’s whispers, feels them finding their way right into his heart.

“Then wake up.”


End file.
